A Neatly Laid Trap
by muddmm
Summary: Marriage Law Fic. The Ministry issues a new marriage law that neatly captures all of the remaining Death Eaters. What will Hermione do when her old enemies come calling? And will she see her friends through new eyes? With the help of a snarky potions professor and an army of house elves, Hermione might just be able to bring these men into the light. (Rating subject to change).
1. Chapter 1

Hermione Jean Granger sat at her maple desk, the light from the library's fire illuminating her elfish features as she tapped the corner of a crisp piece of parchment against her lips, deep in thought. Spread out around her, in between the mountains of books, piles of blank parchment, and the veritable army of ink bottles and quills, were letters.

Now, that in itself wasn't so strange; given Hermione's intelligence and reputation she corresponded with dozens of governments and leading reformers on a daily basis. No, it was the content of these letters that posed a riddle that was currently vexing the former Hogwarts Head Girl.

The letters had begun arriving two days ago, on her twentieth birthday, and at last count there were a grand total of nine. Nine letters requesting the honor and privilege to court one Hermione Jean Granger. She held the latest letter in her hand, a beautiful piece of verbosity written by non-other than the young Lord Theodore Athelstan Isidor Nott. She had also received courtship requests from her old schoolmate Neville Longbottom, Draco _and_ Lucius Malfoy, as well as the Weasley twins among others. In fact, all of the letters came from an of age, single male of the Sacred Twenty-Eight houses.

It would have been flattering if she had not known any better.

Hermione, for all her gifts (and she was not so unaware as to not know there were plenty) knew that at the end of the day she was still a muggle-born. Still considered of inferior blood and the only thing that had ever mattered to the members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight was blood.

And so the riddle that had been perplexing her for the last two days had been this: what did the pureblood know that she did not?

"Father, this is absurd!" Draco hissed. He was torn between baffled amusement and growing horror at the predicament he and his father currently found themselves in. "We cannot court the same women!"

Lucius Abraxas Malfoy merely sipped his evening glass of port and moved a white pawn across a chessboard. The chessboard was part of a set, magicked into mimicking the movements of its twin which was currently set up in the Potion Master's rooms at the Hogwarts Castle. He was currently in the middle of a vicious game with his longtime confidant, Severus Snape, and any distractions now could mean ruin.

"Desperate times, Draco," Lucius lazily replied. "We have to pool resources."

"Pool resources!" Draco cried incredulously. "These are women I went to school with!"

"They are eligible women nonetheless. There isn't exactly an overabundance of mudbloods and half-breeds."

At that Draco's fiery anger turned to ice-cold rage. "I wonder why that is, Father."

Father and son shared a stony look before Draco finally through his hands in the air in defeat. "Fine! But don't expect me to call the one you pick out mother!"

Lucius waved his son away and returned to his game. He merely needed a wife to fulfill the requirements set by the law. He was not interested in acquiring a new Lady Malfoy.

The greenhouse was one of the few places Neville Longbottom felt assured of himself. It was in the greenhouse, among the creeping vines and aromatic blossoms that he felt at peace. Which explained why, when he knew he would be dealing with his grandmother, he came out here set up his defenses.

He had come a long way from the pudgy, sniffling, insecure boy who first left home and the iron clutch of his grandmother. He had grown, had matured, had found his niche in life, and was for the most part, relatively happy with the young man he was becoming - an Apprentice Herbologist, a war hero, and an awardee of an Order of Merlin-First Class.

Unfortunately, he was also the last heir to the Noble House of Longbottom.

He sighed as he carefully snipped off the dried leaves of a Nixus Flower. The dark bloom was an essential ingredient in the Dreamless Sleep Potion but it tended to emit a very powerful narcotic if not approached delicately; which was hard to do when one had Lady Augusta Longbottom interrogating you about your love life.

"Well?" She demanded, stamping her blackthorn cane into the ground. "How many responses have you received?"

Neville straightened his considerable frame from where he had been bent and angled himself towards his grandmother. He observed her as he tended to a holly berry bush and wondered what she had been like before his father died. Had she always been so harsh? So domineering? Had his father let her ride over him or had he fought back for his independence?

She had had the elves place one of her chintz armchairs in the greenhouse (for the specific purpose of a comfortable place to harangue him from he was sure) the first year he had returned from Hogwarts. The little boy who had cowered and curtailed to her for years was gone and in his place was a young man who would not be summoned at all hours of the day to listen to how he had failed his family. Instead, was a young man who gently, yet firmly reminded his grandmother that he was an of-age wizard and the Head of the Longbottom Household.

Neville loved his grandmother, he did, but he was not sure how much longer he could bow down to the railings of a twisted, fearful, old woman.

"Two, grandmother," he quietly replied, separating the spiked leaves of the holly bear to check the branches. The muggles might think the berries the most interesting part of the plant but wand makers treasured their firm branches and stems.

"Two!" his grandmother cried. "That's less than half!"

Neville shrugged. "I'm sure the responses will pick-up once the ministry releases news of the law. I believe the lack of responses just stems from confusion."

"That shouldn't matter!" Augustus angrily replied. "You are a pure-blood son of the Sacred Twenty-Eight! These witches should be falling over themselves to be courted by you! I can't believe you can't even…," and here Neville's attention wavered as it normally did. He had heard it all before. He was not his father. Not worthy of the honors and privileges bestowed upon him. Not enough.

Theodore Nott considered himself a smart man. Unlike most of his peers, he had actually taken his education seriously, wanting to immerse himself in the experience and learn as much as possible before he was swept up into the darkness that consumed most of his family. So instead of taking the new law at face value, and panicking, he had researched. He had hoped to find some kind of precedent or loophole that would prevent some poor muggle-born or half-blood witch from being condemned to a lifetime as his wife but unfortunately his education and persistence had done fuck-all in this instance. The law as written was sound.

"… **to white, all pure-blood, single males belonging to a bloodline of the Sacred Twenty Eight must marry an of legal age witch born to one magical parent and one non-magical parent OR born to two non-magical parents. This marriage must be consummated before a year and a day pass from the date of this law's inception, this date being September 21, 1999, when this law will legally go into effect. Any member of the aforementioned class who attempts to falsify facts, use force or threats, or use magical means to fulfill is law will be subject to arrest and brought before the Wizengamot to face punishment. Any member of the aforementioned class who does not comply with this law will be subject to arrest and brought before the Wizengamot to face punishment. Punishment may include fines up to 2 million galleons and up to twenty-five years in Azkaban Prison."**

Really, it was ingenious. The ministry had managed to neatly capture all of the former Death Eater's, their associates, and sympathizers that they hadn't managed to round up the first time around. It was highly unlikely that any half-blood or muggle-born witch would consent to marry a former Death Eater or one of their sons (which most of the Sacred Twenty-Eight were). Even if some of his peers did manage to convince some poor chit to marry them they would be under scrutiny from the ministry for the rest of their lives and the girl would have complete control over the funds, the decisions, the entire relationship.

No man, pureblood or not, wanted to be cuckolded.

In the much more likely scenario that the couldn't convince a witch who met the requirements to marry and sleep with them within the year, their fortunes would be appropriated by the government and they would be sent to prison to serve out the term they would have been subjected to as a convicted Death Eater.

The Slytherin in Theo appreciated their deviousness. The man in him was resigned to spend the next year of his life fruitlessly pursuing women beneath him in order to remain out of Azkaban.

Because really, what was the difference between losing your freedom and your gold and getting married?


	2. Chapter 2

The morning of September 22 dawned clear and bright across Hermione's estates. Her manor house and lands covered the northeast tip of Kent, allowing a wonderful ocean breeze to come in off the shore not twenty-miles from her home. In the summer she left all the windows open in the house, letting the fresh air infuse her large home. Her parents had never really cared for the country, preferring to live in a small house on the outskirts of London within easy walking distance of their dental practice. A solicitor had been hired after her grandmother's death to oversee the estate and accompanying farmland. The house and lands had been part of a small title her grandmother had been given by the Queen after she had saved one of her corgis (an incident involving a hawk, a cliff, and a small brush fire that Hermione had laughed at every time her grandmother retold the story). The title, Lady of the Crown, had technically passed to Hermione at her grandmother's death as her father was not eligible to hold the title (for obvious reasons) but the manor and lands had been kept as part of Hermione's inheritance.

When Hermione had erased her parent's memories, she had known there was no reversing the spell. Before she had left with Harry and Ron that fateful summer, she had had her parents declared dead and sold their practice and her childhood home. She had had all the money converted to galleons and left in her vault at Gringotts with directions that should she die, the money would go to the eldest surviving member of the Weasley family. Thanks to the sale of her parent's assets, the inheritance left to her by her grandmother, and the allotment from her Order of Merlin, Hermione was sitting on quite a pile of gold – enough to see her and any children she may have through life very comfortably.

Hermione left her rooms, pulling on a comfortable pink cotton robe and wool socks to make the trek down to the kitchens. She always took her breakfast and morning cup of coffee in the kitchens while reading the post and any correspondences while the elves puttered around her.

She had fought having the elves of course. As founder of S.P.E.W and a self-proclaimed advocate for the advancement of elfish welfare she had been adamant about not having house elves. "They're no better than slaves Harry!" She'd furiously whispered when her best friend had shown up with yet another stray. "It's wrong and it's demeaning for any magical creature to submit themselves to the rule of another! And for the wizarding world to believe – "

"They have nowhere else to go Hermione," Harry interrupted. "They've lost their homes to Voldemort and his sycophants. Would you turn an orphan away?"

Hermione had glared but relented and had accumulated a total of six "orphaned" house elves whose masters had either been killed or imprisoned after the war. The stubborn creatures insisted she needed them and refused to leave when other positions became available. Everyone had a purpose in life and if the elves were happy in her service well then…she would just have to get used to being called 'Mistress'.

"Mistress is wanting her usual breakfast?" Asked Lotty, the head kitchen elf.

Hermione gracefully sunk it the wooden kitchen chair and accepted her cup of coffee from Elly, a young elf wearing a daisy tea towel she had just recently taken in. "Yes, thank you Lotty."

The little kitchen nook with its handcrafted table and two kitchen chairs was perfectly level with the large bay window that overlooked the eastern part of her estates. It was wonderful to feel the sun rise as she ate her toast and eggs and read the morning edition. Lotty always sniffed and tutted at her but after the first row they had never mentioned Mistress having her breakfast in the kitchens again.

The headline on this morning's issue of the Daily Prophet however, promptly made her lose her appetite.

" **New Minister of Magic Weds! First to Comply with New Mixed Blood Marriage Law!"**

That evening saw Hermione in her library once again, thick legal volumes and blood protocol books joining the neat pile of courtship letters that had multiplied since she had last sat with Theodore Nott's letter pressed to her lips. She was slowly piecing together the ministry's genius with growing disbelief. She glanced up from where she sat on the floor in front of the fire with a copy of Ancient Wizarding Laws and Customs in her lap to her desk where she knew a small pile of letters sat, waiting. The desperation some of her suitor's must be feeling to be courting her of all people…

She supposed there must be some master list of eligible witches that the Houses had gotten ahold of and numerous, identical letters had been mailed out in the hopes that someone would respond favorably. Hermione set the large tome down and raised her hands in the air, her manicured fingers curling with pleasure as she stretched. As she lowered her arms, her right hand instinctively came down to rub at her left forearm. The cuts she had received from Bellatrix Lestrange had been made with a cursed blade. No balm or potion or talented Healer would ever be able to heal the scars. She had been left with a jagged reminder of just how unsuitable she was to be a member of the Sacred Twenty Eight.

And now all their sons were asking to marry her.

Getting up off the floor, Hermione moved to stare pensively out the window. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders, fingering the soft blue cashmere sweater, and leaned her head against the corner wall.

Could she do it? Could she marry one of the men who thought her weak – inferior – because of her blood? Who thought she was somehow less because she had been raised by muggles?

Oh she knew the Weasley's loved her - no fewer than four of the boys had petitioned for her - and Neville had always been sweet but in the end they were still Sacred Twenty-Eight. Still thought that being a pureblood automatically meant you were better. Still feared muggle life and culture. Would she be able to love one of them?

Not to mention there were the Malfoy's, the Nott's, and the small army of Death Eater sympathizers to contend with all of whom were banging down her door ready to shove a white dress over her head and a ring on her finger. She had been tortured – literally and figuratively – by these people throughout her childhood. They had been furious that a muggle-born witch could outshine them in magic and academics. Could she trust one of those men to be her husband?

 _Theo, working quietly on his Ancient Runes homework with her in the Hogwarts Library._

 _Draco hiding halfway behind his mother during the final batter, his glassy eyes staring at a spot on the ground._

 _Lucius, the terror in his eyes as he beckoned his only son away from the tip of Voldemort's wand._

 _George and Fred on either side of her at the pub as she drank and cried and finally admitted it was over with Ronald._

 _Neville, running full speed down the hallway, brandishing his Herbology Apprenticeship papers and screaming with joy._

They were still men. They all had good and bad in them just like everyone else. And she wanted to see if she could bring them a little more into the light before it was snuffed out entirely by bigotry and oppression.

Nodding her head firmly, Hermione turned towards her desk and started organizing her letters.

"Lotty," she called. Her head elf appeared with a small pop and bobbed her knees in perfunctory curtsy. Lotty had certain thoughts about how her Mistress liked her household run and she made sure to show her disapproval in the politest ways possible. "Mistress is calling?"

"Yes, Lotty, we will be hosting a dinner party in…," Hermione consulted one of the blood protocol books, "…two weeks' time. Is there anything special you'll need to order?"

The house elf sighed. "Is Master Potter coming for dinner again, Mistress?" The house elf thought it quite sad that her Mistress considered dinner with her male _friend_ a party.

Hermione frowned. "I have other people over for dinner you know."

The elf gave her a look as if to say, _Who?_

"Never mind. No, Lotty, this will be a formal dinner. "These," she said, fanning the letters across her desk, "are all courtship letters from members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. We – "

She was cut off by a high pitched squeal and looked up just as Lotty threw herself at Hermione's desk. The elf, her tennis ball eyes even larger than normal, shrieked in happiness as she rifled through the papers. "ALL? These are ALL for my Mistress!" The elf cried happily.

Hermione cleared her throat, slightly disturbed by her head elf's interest. "Umm, yes, well – "

Quickly the elf counted the letters and started muttering recipes and ingredients. With a snap of her long, spindly fingers, Lotty summoned a parchment and a self-writing quill that immediately began to scribble ideas for appetizers.

Smiling at her enthusiasm Hermione began making small suggestions. "There will be quite a lot of us, I'm afraid. More than we've hosted before. I'm not sure of preferences or allergies but perhaps – "

Lotty apparated away with a definitive _crack!_

Hermione blinked slowly at the now empty library. "Well then."

Her next order of business was to find a chaperone. Having a number of unmarried men in her house was 'not done' as the _ton_ would say and the pure-blood protocol books seemed to follow closely along the same lines as the rules of muggle nobility. She would need a family member or guardian present to ensure propriety. (It would also be nice to have someone firmly in her corner should the evening become disastrous). Unfortunately, she was severely lacking in available family members. She had thought about asking Mrs. Weasly but it seemed inappropriate to have the mother of four of her would-be suitors act as her intermediary.

No, she knew the perfect man for the job. He knew most of her suitors, knew their tricks, spoke their language, had played their games. She penned a quick note requesting a meeting and sent it off with her grey spotted owl, Allegra. She just hoped the old snake wasn't too stubborn to help her.

Severus Snape surreptitiously studied the young woman sitting across from him as he sipped his tea. Hermione Granger had gone from a bushy-haired swot to a quite frankly stunning young woman.

Who still believed she knew what was best, of course.

Her hair, no longer the frizzy monster of her childhood, was now tamed into waist length chestnut curls that were laced with thick strands of gold. The mulberry sweater she wore complimented the creamy complexion of her skin and showed off her petite figure. Her beautiful oval eyes dominated her face and were the color of perfectly aged fire whiskey framed by thick black lashes. She held her teacup gracefully between her delicate fingers and her black jean clad legs were crossed elegantly at the ankle. Miss Granger was the picture of soft sophistication.

She had grown into a remarkable young woman and Severus was disgruntled to find he felt the same warmth for her now as he had last year as her Potions Master when they were working on the Salutem Magnum potion together. The potion had been designed to cure those who had suffered prolonged exposure of the Cruciatus curse – one of the few things he and the beautiful young woman sitting across from him had in common. That and their intelligence and drive to finish the potion as quickly as possible. If they had worked together any longer he was sure he would have embarrassed himself immensely with his 'feelings'.

Hermione put her cup down and glanced at her surroundings. They had decided to meet in Severus' study where they had done most of their research together. "I miss this place," she remarked, smiling.

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. "Missed my temper and snark have you?"

She drew her eyebrows together and attempted to mimic his baritone voice. "Do check your sources Miss Granger. There is no need to pass along another's stupidity. Yours will do us enough damage, I'm sure."

He tried to hide his snort of amusement behind his teacup but knew he failed miserably. "Come back to reminisce?" _Or talk? Argue? About anything?_ There was an unfortunate lack of intellect at this school. Miss Granger had been the only one besides Albus who could actually keep up with him.

She took a deep breath and he attempted to ignore how the movement brought her perfect breasts nearly eyelevel. "Actually, I've come to ask you for a favor."

Intrigued, he waited silently for her to continue.

"Have you heard about the new marriage law?" For a brief second his heart stopped. An impossible scenario where Hermione Granger was actually a pure-blood and was asking Severus to marry her in order to fulfill the law's requirements flashed through his mind.

And then his brain caught up with hormones.

He cleared his throat, stalling for time while his heart rate went back to normal. "Yes, why do you ask?"

Hermione fiddled with the handle of her teacup as she avoided his gaze. Severus narrowed his eyes at her sudden bout of nerves. _She couldn't possibly be considering…_

He leaned back in his chair and cradled his teacup. "I assume then, that an offer has been made?"

She glanced at him. "Fourteen."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Fourteen offers."

Severus choked on his tea.

As she listed off her suitors, his incredulity grew. The Weasley's were no surprise, Molly had been trying to get ahold of Hermione for years, throwing one red-head after another at the girl. Theodore was smart enough to hedge his bets and he had never really bought into the pure-blood hype as much as his father. Draco was a surprise – the two had loathed each other as children. Lucius was an even bigger surprise – one he intended to bring up immediately with his old friend. The man hadn't so much as looked at another woman since Narcissa's death.

"And you're considering them?" He didn't quite manage to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

Hermione frowned at him and shifted forward in her seat. "And why should I not?"

Oh no. He recognized the mutinous look in her eyes. He had poked the Lioness.

Before he could control the movement, his eyes flickered to her left forearm. She immediately stiffened. "Now, Hermione…"

"No."

"Do you really think this is a wise decision?"

"Be very careful what you say Severus. Realize the people you are about to disparage." Her own eyes moved pointedly to where the faded tattoo of the Dark Mark lay hidden under his black robes.

He sighed and closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I am well aware of what this particular group of people is like, Hermione. It's why I am making the effort to dissuade you from this course of action."

He placed his cup down and leaned forward to take her small hands in his. The juxtaposition was jarring. His hands, scarred and callused, covered in so much blood sometimes he could barely see them, covering her soft hands with their tips covered in a pearlescent pink polish.

He looked up into her face and saw her fear. And he saw her determination. She would go down this path despite his warnings but he had to try. "I know you have a big heart Hermione – I know its capacity to forgive. A trait for which I am eternally grateful but this…I fear that at the end of this endeavor you will be hurt more profoundly than you will know how to repair." His long fingers trailed over her arm. He had failed to keep the Trio safe when they disappeared into the woods, he had failed to rescue them from the Snatchers, and he had failed to remove the scars from Hermione's arm. He did not want to think about what scars this new law would leave on them all.

"They need help Severus," she whispered.

"Marry one of the Weasels then. Or Mr. Longbottom – you certainly grew close helping him cheat in my class." She blushed but he continued despite the pretty distraction. "I am asking you not to do this."

He was gratified to see her thinking about it at least. He watched her weigh the ramifications and the possible outcomes but then she turned her beautiful face back to him and his shoulder slumped in defeat.

"Everyone deserves a chance."

He wanted to argue with her. Wanted to tell her all the horrible disgusting things he had heard some of these men say. What he had seen some of them do. He wanted to describe in vicious detail what had happened to the women who had gone into Malfoy Manor and never come back out.

But then he would have to tell her about Draco's first revel. That he refused to torture a young girl that was brought to him naked and bound. How he had cried when the curses had been turned on him instead and that he'd vomited after he'd given the girl a quick death.

He would have to tell her how Lucius had been a prisoner in his own home, unable to protect his wife and son. That he still flinched when someone touched him unexpectedly and how he never turned his back on a man when he was alone in a room with him.

He would have to tell her that Theo had never taken the Dark Mark like everyone suspected. Like his father practically tortured him to do. How Theo would tell Severus about the late night gatherings he'd witnessed take place at the Nott family home, ostensibly complaining about his studies being interrupted.

Severus dropped her hands and sat back in resignation.

They were silent for several moments before he remembered what had prompted their argument. "What is it you needed from me?"

"Well," she hedged.

"Out with it, Miss Granger," he snapped, his nerves already strung taught.

"I need a representative."

Severus snorted and picked up his now cold tea. "No." She saw his grimace and cast a silent warming charm with a quick flick of her fingers.

"Why not?" She cried, clearly expecting his reaction but determined to play the part of wounded friend nonetheless.

"Because I don't want to."

She growled at him.

"It will be an innumerable amount of formal dinners. There will long walks in which I will have to trail silently behind you and a man I do not think deserves you. There will be tea parties full of inane chatter with their mothers present and I'll have to act polite despite the vitriol they will no doubt spill about your suitability. And knowing you I'll still somehow end up in a duel to defend your honor!"

He crashed his tea back down on the saucer in his ire, spilling some of the molten liquid on his hand. "Dammit!"

She rolled her eyes and handed him a handkerchief. "Will you calm down? You're acting hysterical."

He glared at her, affronted, as he mopped up the spilled beverage. "I am not. Everyone will be dancing around the fact that the only reason they are courting a muggle-born is to keep from going to prison and I'll go insane from all the double talk."

Hermione muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "You mean we're not there already?" before she replied, "But that's why I need you. You know these men, you know what they're really saying when they speak. And you know all the pure-blood protocol and courting etiquette and you'll be a fantastic negotiator for my dowry and wedding contract and – "

He held up a hand to stop her diatribe. Merlin did she ever take a breath?

He got up to pace around the room. There had been too many revelations and emotions for him to sit still comfortably anymore.

She was silent for a moment, watching him, before saying, "I can't do this without you."

He glared at her. _Blasted witch._

"Fine," he snarled.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note:_ _Happy to have so many positive reviews already! I've gotten several comments on a Severus/Hermione pairing and also questions about multiple Hermione pairings and wanted to answer those en masse. While a Severus/Hermione is one of my absolute favorites this story will not be that. Severus has a very reluctant crush on Hermione but had never planned to act on his feelings even before the marriage law and her decision to take a pureblood husband. Also, this is not a Hermione harem – although I love those too. I don't think my skills as a writer are quite up to a harem fic yet so this is definitely a specific character pairing. But I shan't ruin the surprise of whom! The point of having multiple men in the mix is to a) have more fun writing (all these men are so delicious in their own way!) and b) this is meant to be a bit self-reflective. All of our male characters will learn something from Hermione during the courting process. Enjoy!_

Draco Malfoy examined his reflection critically in the standing gilded mirror with as much intensity as one studied a rare and priceless work of art. His platinum blond hair, no longer slicked back like in his school days, just brushed the smooth grey of his dinner jacket. He wore a matching vest and pants, the material made of the finest silk and his white dress shirt with white silk embroidery had been pressed to within an inch of its life. His nails were buffed, his shoes were polished, and his grey eyes gave a practiced look of bored indulgence.

Who would have thought he would have gone to all this trouble for Hermione Granger?

"Granger," he murmured, watching as his reflection's countenance became thoughtful. He had so many memories of the girl – woman, he supposed. He would forever smirk as the memory of the bushy haired swot's hand shooting into the air in classes. He could even smile ruefully at their third year when she had delivered him one hell of a right hook. The Yule Ball where he had had the one traitorous thought of thinking the Muggle-born lovely. That was his last warm memory of the girl – woman.

They were replaced by images of her bloody and beaten on his ballroom floor.

Shoving his hands into his pockets as forcefully as he shoved the dark memories from the forefront of his mind (they never truly left him) he turned and went to meet his father.

Lucius Malfoy was dressed very similarly to his son, only where Draco wore a slim suit of light grey, Lucius had dressed in rich emerald velvet. His long hair was brushed and tied back at the nape of his neck with a matching ribbon and his ever present dragon head cane was polished and shined to perfection.

Draco noticed how tightly the thing was clutched in his father's leather gloved hand.

"Ready?" Lucius inquired, shrugging into the black wool coat that one of the elves had brought.

Draco nodded, flicking a piece of non-existent lint of his arm. "It's Granger," he replied, as if that explained everything.

"What do you think she'll serve at her 'dinner party'?" Lucius mused.

Draco snorted. "I half expected it to be held at that hovel the Weasley's call a house."

The unease they had felt at the fact that neither of them had recognized the apparition point provided in the invitation was ignored.

Lucius sighed in resignation of a terrible evening to be endured for the sake of his House. "Yes, well, at least it'll provide some entertainment. Severus canceled our rematch tonight so I was quite without plans."

"Let's just get this over with." The younger Malfoy was sure the only reason the witch had invited them was to gloat over their impending loss of fortune and incarceration. He had had enough of people spitting on his family and his name. The fact that he would have to endure it for an entire evening from Hermione Granger on the minuscule hope that she was serious about entering into an agreement with a Malfoy was a humiliation he did not know if he would be able to withstand.

With a loud _crack!_ the two silver haired wizards apparated away.

Neville Longbottom shrugged his shoulders and pulled at the sleeves of his maroon dinner jacket, attempting to feel comfortable in the tailored formal wear. As a Herbology apprentice he was often in a uniform of teaching robes or dirty gardening clothes. Tonight, in his three-piece suit and tie, he felt oddly constricted, as if with any sudden movement he would tear through the costly silk. But it was worth it.

 _Hermione Granger_.

Her name alone brought a small smile to his lips as he straightened his burnished gold tie. He had purposefully chosen Gryffindor colors to remind Hermione of their shared past and allegiances. He had never thought to expect an owl from the female member of the Golden Trio. He had not even realized he had sent a courtship letter out to her even though he must have done. In school she had been the perfect student, always completing every assignment early, always knowing the answer, always willing to help another student with their studies.

His smile grew as he remembered their shared Potion's class. Merlin knew he would have never passed without her assistance – he had been terrified of Professor Snape and a right mess with a cauldron. But Hermione, well she had always been brilliant, at everything. He had asked her to the Yule Ball their fourth year and she had seemed sincerely regretful when she had turned him down.

"I wish I had known you were planning to ask me Neville," she said fretfully, her large cinnamon eyes turned towards him with concern.

He had been amazed at her dueling skills and spell work when they were in the DA together. She was by no means a natural, like Harry and Ginny, but she made up for it in determination and creativity. She had found new uses for old, common place spells that had eventually been incorporated into the Auror training program.

Neville had always admired her. She was a beautiful, brilliant, kind witch and for the first time since he had had found out about the marriage law he was actually looking forward to the whole thing. If Hermione Granger would consent…well, he was sure his grandmother would not be able to find a thing wrong with the girl.

Theo Nott stood silently on the green heath, inhaling the soft night air that was tinged with the scent of ocean spray. He studied the cream stone of the manor house in front of him, the fingers of his right hand rubbing the silver filigree on his walking cane while he wondered what other revelations the Granger girl had tucked up her sleeve for tonight.

To say he had been surprised when a white pygmy owl bearing a formal dinner invitation had landed in front of his full English breakfast one morning would have been an overstatement. Theo Nott was never surprised – but he was intrigued. Hermione Granger was the most famous Muggleborn of their era. She was a brilliant war heroine who used her intelligence and award money to create a cure for victims of prolonged Cruciatus exposure. She was best friends with the Savior of the Wizarding World and beloved by all creatures great and small. Theo was waiting for the biographies to learn the rest of what he was sure would be a very interesting and fulfilling life.

So why on earth was she wasting it on the likes of him?

He remembered her, of course. He didn't know of anyone who had met her, spoken with her, who would be able to forget the vivacious Gryffindor Princess.

 _"Stop it Ronald, I have to study." Theo looked up from where he was scribbling notes for his Advanced Arithmancy project. He noticed the brunette had her own Arithmancy books spread across the table but was currently unable to make use of them due to the large ginger who had thrown himself across the table in order to gain her attention. Theo rolled his eyes and turned back to his studying, intent on ignoring the growing drama between the two members of the so-called Golden Trio. It had been brewing for weeks of course. Everyone could see the red-headed monkey was gone for the girl but that Hermione had finally wizened up to the fact that she was too smart, too gorgeous, and just too…_ much _for the Gryffindor blowhard. Everyone could see that. Except, of course, Ronald Weasley._

 _"But Hermione," he whined unattractively. "You always study! And there's no need to! You'll get any job you want! You helped bring down the Biggest Bad Great Britain's ever seen!"_

 _Though he was determined not to watch, Theo couldn't help but see Granger roll her eyes in exasperation. He smiled. He could tell this was not a new conversation._

 _"I don't want to trade on my name Ronald. Or Harry's," she said, looking at her friend pointedly. "I want to do what I want on my own merits."_

 _Weasley finally removed himself from her table, grumbling the entire time. "Don't see why you need a job anyway. Should stay at home with the kids. I'll take care of you."_

 _At that mumbled statement the entire library went deathly silent. Even Theo stopped pretending to be working and stared openly as Granger, who had bent her head to continue working, froze in her seat._

 _Slowly, precisely, she set down her quill, making sure the wet end did not drip on any of her papers. "And what makes you think, Ronald that_ you _will be taking care of me?" She turned her head slowly, her soft curls sliding around her back and shoulders as she sent Weasley a chilling glare._

 _The ginger fiend seemed to understand he was in trouble but couldn't quite comprehend how he had gotten himself into it. So he opened his oblivious mouth once more. "You-you're my girl."_

 _One imperious brown eyebrow raised in question. "Since when?"_

 _Theo could see Weasley panicking. His whole plan revolved around the hope that if he acted like Granger was his girlfriend she would feel obligated to follow his lead. Everyone knew that the idiot had never actually_ asked _the girl anything. Not for a date, a kiss, to hold hands, nothing._

 _Theo smirked when the Gryffindor decided on bravado and a 'firm hand' as his next course of action. "Now…now see here Hermione! I love you and you-you're mine! And…AND that's just the way it is!" He finished triumphantly. Eagerly, the entire library turned to see Granger's reaction._

 _She smiled, a soft sweet smile that made something in Theo's chest leap uncomfortably. He rubbed at the spot and frowned to cover his momentary unease. She wasn't falling for this tripe was she?_

 _Granger lifted up both hands and placed them gently on either side of Weasley's face. He was relaxing now, thinking he had won and gotten the girl without embarrassing himself overly much._

 _"Ronald…dear, sweet Ronald," at that sweetly saccharine voice Theo smirked knowingly. That was the same tone of voice Pansy used before some boy started either screaming or crying. "I love you too, but I want you to listen very closely." Her hands tightened on Weasley's face and sparks of magic began to crackle and fly from her fingertips._

 _"I am MINE, before I am EVER anyone else's. And I will NEVER be yours."_

Unfortunately, Weasley hadn't cried that day much to Theo's disappointment. But he had seemed to have finally gotten the hint and shortly thereafter started seeing his old sweetheart, Lavender Brown. When the Brown girl became pregnant three months later no one had been surprised. Theo wondered if the ginger idiot knew his best friend owned a manor house.

The sound of two distinct _pops!_ Interrupted Theo's musings and he sighed. _Best get on with the show then_ , he supposed, taking a firm grasp on his walking cane and making his way slowly up the drive.


	4. Chapter 4

_I am so sorry this took so long. I misplaced my thumb drive when I had about 80% of this chapter written. Enjoy._

* * *

"Himmy will be taking the Great Lord's cloak, he will," the house elf stated imperiously, practically wrenching the garment from Lucius's shoulders. The elf went on to collect Draco's cloak as well as the young Lord Nott's effects while Lucius stared after it.

He had not been expecting house elves.

He had not been expecting house elves in a tastefully decorated manor house by the sea. He had not expected to see Theodore Nott in the tastefully decorate manor house by the sea, nor had he expected to see house elves bowing to Amon Shafiq or offering a drink to Blaise Zabini.

The list of things he had not been expecting was much larger than he had expected.

"What the devil is Blaise doing here?" Draco hissed from behind his shoulder.

"Offshoot of the Avery branch," replied Nott lazily, shrugging his shoulder as he felt the weight of his wool cloak lifted from him. "A second cousin or some such. I'm surprised to see you here Malfoy," Theo nodded his head at both Draco and Lucius as he studied the cream and blue entryway of the manor house. "Who knew Granger had all this hidden in that bushy hair of hers, hmmm?"

"Who indeed?" muttered Lucius, as he grabbed a crystal glass full of fire whiskey from a nearby house elf. He threw the drink back in one motion and cursed as the smooth flavor traveled down his throat and ignited a warm fire in his belly.

Even the Mudblood's damned fire whiskey was superb.

"Gentleman, if you would follow me into the drawing room? I believe the elves have a greater selection of beverages and starters available while we wait for everyone else to arrive." Lucius nearly swallowed his tongue as he recognized the smooth, cultured voice on the stair case. "Severus?" he gasped, his pureblood manners leaving him entirely in his state of overwhelming shock.

"Lucius," the man replied warmly, "I didn't realize you would be joining us tonight." The cold look of murder his compatriot's eyes held belied that statement but Lucius knew an opening gambit when he saw one. The Potions Master was dressed formally in black velvet robes with small silver snake details along his cuffs and down his waist coat. His shoulder length black hair had been washed and brushed back to form a small queue at nape of his neck. He stood regally on the stairs with his hands folded behind his back and a small smirk on his usually sallow face.

"Well, Miss Granger was kind enough to extend us an invitation – how could I refuse a famous war heroine, Severus?" Lucius recovered smoothly. "And may I ask how you know the young woman well enough to be invited into her…home?" The pause had been deliberate, designed to imply that Severus had been invited into more than just the chit's home. The barb hit home as Lucius saw his friend's jet black gaze narrow ever so slightly before the expression vanished from his face.

" _Lady_ Granger has asked me to represent her interests as she navigates a veritable sea of courting requests. I've not seen quite so many ribbons since Narcissa's own debut – but then again she was only juggling nine suitors and Lady Granger was originally approached by fourteen," Severus finished meanly.

Lucius had stiffened at the mention of an unknown title but the rest of the room went silent at the mention of fourteen competitors.

Draco recovered the conversation in his father's silence. "I didn't realize you knew Gra- Lady Granger well enough to act as her representative, godfather."

"Oh, quite well. The lady was my apprentice for a year as we developed the Salutem Magnum potion," Severus replied casually as he led the group of five men into the drawing room.

"I didn't know the muggle-born was involved in the creation," Lucius heard Shafiq murmur from behind him, sounding impressed even through his heavy Middle Eastern accent.

"Apparently there are a great many unknowns about the Lady Granger," Nott retorted cheerfully.

Lucius jaw clenched as the drawing room doors opened wide to admit them.

The blue and cream color scheme was carried inside the drawing room where mint and gold accents distinguished it from the entryway. Inside, Theo could see one of the Weasley twins carrying on a conversation with Oliver Wood, their old quidditch captain and current chaser for England's team, by the large bay windows that gave one a view of the formal English gardens. Looking around the room he also spied Neville Longbottom sitting on the couch with Ernie MacMillan, both of whom had been in his year at Hogwarts, though he'd had little cause to interact with the Hufflepuff outside of classes.

"Would the Great Lord be liking a beverage, sir?" A small voice squeaked from his right. Theo turned to see a small house elf dressed in an amethyst pillow case with a gold crest embroidered over her heart nervously waiting on his order. _That makes three. How many of the things does Granger have?_ He wondered as he bemusedly asked the elf for a glass of fire whiskey. He'd seen Lucius throw his back earlier and it looked delicious. The elf bowed and Theo made his way over to a plush chair while he eagerly awaited the evening's next revelation. So far he had learned that Granger was wealthy, _far_ wealthier than anyone had previously suspected, even given her war hero status; she owned house elves; had excellent taste in fire whiskey and interior decorating; was close friends with the notorious misanthrope, Severus Snape; and was quite more desirable than anyone had given her credit for given the number of suitors she supposedly had.

"Fourteen courtship proposals," he mused aloud as he sipped the truly excellent fire whiskey the nervous young elf had brought him. Conversation stopped as eyes darted around the room, nervously looking for Granger's representative to see if he would put a stop to their gossiping. Severus, however, had left after seeing the young men into the room, presumably to await the rest of the guests and terrify them with his unanticipated presence.

"Yes, quite the coup for the little –"

"Say that word, and I promise you it will be your last, Lord Malfoy." The Weasley twin, who Theo was now able to identify as Fred due to the presence of both his ears, had stood quickly against the elder Malfoy.

Lucius calmly swirled his fire whiskey as he observed the room. "I was going to say 'little lady', Mr. Weasley. Surely we've all learned to move past our prejudices, hmmmm?" There was a subtle reshuffling as the three Gryffindors and lone Hufflepuff moved to stand together against the other purebloods. Theo remained in his seat between the two groups and rolled his eyes.

"Yes, well," Amon Shafiq cleared his throat and took a glass of red wine from a trembling house elf. "It seems the Lady Granger has set aside her…youthful preconceptions? There is quite a diverse crowd tonight."

"Indeed," came the dry reply from the entryway as Snape reentered the room followed two newcomers. "I believe you men are all acquainted with Mr. Morven Parkinson and the young Lord Rupert Lestrange?"


	5. Chapter 5

The introduction of two new suitors was hardly a revelation. What was a surprise was that Granger had accepted two more Dark Lord sympathizers into her entourage and now the snakes outnumbered the lions two to one.

Draco eyed Rupert Lestrange in complete disbelief. The young man was barely of age but held a lithe grace that his older companions had lost during the war. His dark auburn hair and jade green eyes were characteristic of the Lestrange bloodline as was his reputation for deceit. Rupert had escaped the call due to his age but Draco had heard stories of how the young man had been forced to participate in his family's more…intimate gatherings. The silver haired pureblood shuddered at the image of Bellatrix Lestrange beckoning her young cousin-by-marriage into her bedchambers. He would have gladly taken a second Mark to avoid that woman and whatever was between her thighs.

Why on earth had Granger invited a Lestrange into her home? Especially given the outcome the last time she had encountered one.

"Now that we are all present, gentleman, I believe it is time to go over some ground rules…"

"All, Severus?" Came his father's lazy drawl. "I thought you said the Lady Granger was entertaining fourteen suitors." He stood and gestured to the overcrowded drawing room. "There are a paltry eleven of us present."

Severus rolled his eyes at the interruption but replied in that same bored tone. "I am so glad the three fire whiskeys you've managed to down already haven't thwarted your ability to count, Lucius." A few dry smiles and chuckles met the barb and the Potions Master continued. "The other three young men withdrew their suit," a sharp glance at Fred Weasley told Draco that the other three suitors had been his brothers and Severus was not pleased by the insult delivered to his charge. "In the absence of any surviving family members, Lady Hermione Jean Granger has chosen me to act as her intermediary and representative during the courting process. As of this moment she has accepted to be courted by all of you." There was a familiar sneer at the end of Severus's speech and Draco knew he would find no ally in his godfather. His mind caught on the phrase 'surviving family members' before he was drawn back into the moment. "Tonight, you will all have the opportunity to dine with the Lady Granger. Tomorrow morning, owls bearing two flowers, either a yellow carnation or apple blossoms, will be delivered to your homes. If you receive an apple blossom, congratulations," Severus informed them drily, "you've made it past the first round. If you receive a yellow carnation…well, I assume you all know what that means."

Indeed they did. For Purebloods, flowers conveyed a wealth of meaning. Thoughts, feelings, intentions – everything a proper aristocrat was too polite to say out loud but artful enough to make known anyway. They were typically used during the courting process because it would be far too forward of the young couple to declare how much they wanted to rip each other's clothes off but in the language of flowers presenting your intended with an orange lily conveying the same emotion was perfectly acceptable. That Granger was using the exercise to declare her refusal or acceptance of her suitor's continued pursuit conveyed just how seriously she was taking their customs and culture.

Draco was impressed despite himself. And he felt the first glimmer of anticipation since that damned and blasted law had come out.

* * *

Fred Weasley had been in a mild state of shock since entering the large manor house. After all, this girl was his brother's best friend – had been her boyfriend there for a while – and he'd no clue she owned an estate by the sea. Hell, the witch had practically lived at his family's place every summer since she turned thirteen. They'd gone to school together. Been in the DA together. Fought a dark wizard and his army together!

And it was like he didn't know her at all.

Fred glanced around the room at his competition and couldn't help but feel a small bout of nerves. He may have been a pureblood, a scion of the Sacred 28, but it was in name only. He didn't have even a tenth of these other men's wealth. He didn't have their manners, their charm, or their connections. All he had was a joke shop and fervent desire to not be stuck marrying a perfect stranger.

He smiled to cover his nerves and smoothed a hand down his navy velvet suit. It was new – the shop was doing well enough that he'd been able to afford that at least – and he knew the color complimented his bright hair. Glancing over at Neville in his Gryffindor colors, Fred wondered if he shouldn't have gone that route instead.

Lord, what was the world coming to when he was envious of Neville Longbottom?

He brought his attention back to Snape – _of all people she had to choose the old bat as her representative_ – and his explanation of the flower delivery. His mother had given him a quick course in pureblood customs before the dinner tonight and he had a general idea of the meaning of the flowers and their significance. He hadn't thought Granger would care that much about the outdated customs but catching the gleam in the eyes of some of the other men in the room the effort was apparently appreciated.

Fred had thought that his lack of caring would be his advantage. Granger wouldn't have to change for him. She wouldn't have to memorize the names of flowers and their meaning. She wouldn't have to put on fancy dinners on fancy places with fancy food and fancy people to fit into his world. She could keep reading her books and he would keep running his joke shop and maybe they would have a couple of kids and all the years of being comfortable around one another would grow into a warm, relaxed kind of love.

He took a gulp of his fire whiskey as another set of double doors opened and Snape led them all into an enormous dining room complete with three crystal chandeliers and candle sconces.

He hadn't thought that he might have to change for Granger.

* * *

The dining room was a picture of elegance and taste. Dark wood floors lent a charming history to the house – he was sure they were original – while the cream walls with gold emboss added a touch of French sophistication. The floor to ceiling windows – at least eighteen feet tall he noted – showed a beautiful view of the sea. The crystal chandeliers were spaced evenly across the mosaic ceiling and there were enough antique gold candle sconces to give the room a warm light.

The table was set for thirteen with the requisite number of Dutch porcelain plates, Waterford crystal wine glasses, and Portuguese silverware to please any grand dame of society.

Amon Shafiq paused at the threshold of the dining room as he eyed the large circular dining table skeptically.

"I see she's taken a page from T.H. White," Lord Nott remarked as he circled the large table.

There were gold embossed name tags indicating where each man was to sit. Amon was disgruntled to find he was four places away from the Lady Granger who had sat Master Snape to her right and Lucius Malfoy to her left.

"Who?" Lord Longbottom inquired, finding his own chair next to Snape. The man eyed the place card next to him as if debating on switching seats.

"Muggle author. Wrote about King Arthur and his roundtable," replied Nott, who had been seated almost directly across from Lady Granger.

As everyone found their seats and the wine was served the topic was once again picked up. "And what was the purpose of this…round table?" Amon asked. He, for one, was not a fan.

"King Arthur wished for each of his knights to be his equal," answered a melodic voice from the opposite side of the dining room. "No man was valued above the other."

Amon rose slowly from the table as the vision of loveliness walked towards them.

"My Lords, may I present, the Lady Hermione Jean Granger."


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you all for the lovely reviews and your unyielding patience. I see this story so clearly in my head that sometimes it goes through a lot of revision to get to where I want it._

* * *

It was moments like these that Hermione was supremely grateful she was a witch. Without magic, she was sure she would be a pile of nervous sweat covered in red silk. She smoothed her red lacquered fingers down the fitted dress and checked to make sure her hair was behaving itself before nodding her head resolutely and walking towards the door. This dinner was the first test.

She had purposefully invited all of her suitors to see who had matured enough to let the past stay where it was. It was one of her constant frustrations with Ron that he could simply not let go of house rivalries. "They're snakes 'Mione!" He would shout. "They're evil! No good left in them!" She would frequently point out that there had been several Gryffindor and Ravenclaw blood purists, not to mention the infamous Peter Pettigrew. "And what about Sirius's brother, Regulus? And Severus?" He would grumble and she would huff and they wouldn't speak to each other for days. She would not tie herself to someone who could not see beyond childhood slights.

Walking down the halls of her home she felt the thrill of anticipation run through her veins. She had never considered herself a beautiful woman. Pretty, maybe. Certainly she cleaned up well. But tonight she had pulled out all the stops. The dress she wore was a slim, sheath cut in vibrant red silk that left her arms and collarbone bare. She had pulled her hair back in a chic chignon and wore large ruby and gold earrings. She wore no rings, no bracelets, no necklace. Bellatrix's mark and the tip of the scar she had received from Dolohov the night at the Ministry were proudly on display. As she walked down the halls towards the dining room she ran her hand over her uncovered arm, her fingers tracing over the scar.

This dinner would also examine if her suitors would be able to handle her part in the war. She had been tortured, she was scarred, she still suffered from nightmares and the occasional panic attack. Ron had asked her several times to have muggle cosmetic surgery. Harry just looked at her with guilt in his eyes whenever he saw her scars. When she was in public people stared first at her face and then at her arm – even if the scar was covered. She no longer felt shame when she looked upon her scars; she felt vindicated. She defied everything Voldemort and his blood purists spouted and now she was alive while he and everyone who had hurt her was dead.

Her husband would have to accept her. All of her.

She paused outside the large double doors to the dining room and took a deep breath. Elf magic would open the doors for her once everyone was seated. As they started to open, Hermione heard the dregs of conversation from her suitors. Ah, so someone _had_ recognized her table!

"King Arthur wished for each of his knights to be his equal," she responded, striding forward. Conversation halted as she glided into the room. She paused and waited for Severus to pull her chair out for her as protocol dictated (she was disgruntled to learn there were very few tasks she was allowed to do in public, but, in for a penny in for a pound as they say). "No man was valued above the other."

Magic noiselessly scooted her chair closer to the table while Severus introduced her to her suitors. She took a moment to examine the men she was inviting into her life.

Blaise Zabini had always been handsome but age, and…she supposed _experience_ , had made him almost devastatingly so. He wore an all-black suite that only seemed to emphasize the dark mocha of his skin and the white flash of his bright smile. Oliver looked fit in his classic dark grey and green suite – she had heard he had been forced into early retirement and was now an assistant Quidditch coach for the Harpies. She hadn't had the pleasure of knowing Ernie Macmillan well in school but she knew he had received almost as good of grades as she had. Her gaze skipped over Draco – she had debated with herself for ages about accepting the Malfoy's suit. She had no good memories of either of the Slytherin males (in fact only horrible, nightmarish memories where she woke up covered in sweat) but she would never be a hypocrite.

And she could admit to herself that both Lucius and Draco cut quite the figure.

She turned her gaze to Theodore Nott who seemed to be studying her with bemusement. "Do you enjoy the classics, Lord Nott?" She tried not to let her surprise at his knowing a muggle author leak into her voice.

Theo shook out his napkin as the house elves apparated silently about pouring champagne and serving hors d'oeuvre. "I do, in fact. My first tutor was a wizard of profound brilliance and his muggle mother was a literature professor at Oxford. He would smuggle in White and Tolstoy and the Bronte Sisters and ask me if I could tell the difference between wizarding and muggle writing."

"And could you?" asked Draco. He too was surprised to learn his school mate had been an avid reader of muggle work. In had only been in the past few years that Draco himself had come to appreciate the work of the muggle author Shakespeare, the sad twists of tragic fate speaking to him on a profound level.

Theo shrugged as he took a bite of his salad. "Not at first."

Hermione herself was curious now. "But you were later able to discover a difference?"

Theo took a sip of champagne as he thought best on how to answer. He could, in fact, tell the difference between muggle and wizard writing but how best to use that difference to his advantage? "Muggle writing, no matter how dark and depraved the subject matter might be, always held a ray of…hope."

Hermione studied the handsome young man sitting across the table from her. His sharp blue eyes held a trace of a challenge in them and she wondered if he knew how much he believed his own words. "Well said, Lord Nott," she applauded quietly. Hermione quickly moved on to more banal topics of conversation: the weather, the current gossip in London, her choice of décor. It wasn't until the elves served the fruit and cheese course that Lord Morven Parkinson made his presence known.

"So, I think we're all wondering," he began, his voice dark like oil moving across water, "how is it a little mudblood like you could afford to have house elves?"

The guests froze at the forbidden insult, and Severus began to rise to his feet when Hermione laid a gentle hand on his arm and bade him sit back down.

She smiled at Morven but those men who had known her at school flinched to see that razor smile on her elven face. "They're displaced house elves, Lord Parkinson. They were forced to leave their families when they were locked up for war crimes and thrown into Azkaban."

A slight flush rose to Morven's face at the reminder that many of his family members were currently incarcerated. He moved to open his mouth when Amon Shafiq cut in, "And you have opened your home to them, Lady Granger? How kind of you."

She acknowledged his words with a slight nod and speared a grape on the end of her fork. "Yes, Harry – you know of him, of course – kept bringing them to me. In his work with the aurors arresting those war criminals who went into hiding after Tom Riddle was defeated – "

"You show him the proper respect, you filthy mudblood cunt!" Morven now had become a deep purple and he quickly shoved himself up from his seat and strode towards Hermione. "His name is LORD Voldemort and he had more magic in his little finger than – "

"His little half-blood finger I think you meant," Hermione pointed out coldly.

Morven made a strangled noise in his throat and drew his wand. "You – you…you are not fit to breathe the same air as the rest of us!"

"Careful there, Lord Parkinson," came Severus's silky voice. "You are outnumbered and severely outmatched."

Morven glanced around quickly, noticing several of his peers had stood and stood casually holding their wands. "You – you would defend this? This filth!" He tightened his hold on his wand. "She is the antithesis to everything we believe!"

"Then why are you here, Lord Parkinson?" Hermione asked, rising from her seat. "If my existence is so abhorrent to you, why did you ask permission to court me?"

"Because the damn Ministry won't see reason where your kind are concerned," Morven hissed. " _Forcing_ purebloods to marry and _breed_ with something like you…"

"Clearly then you would prefer Azkaban," Hermione responded meanly. "A little family reunion perhaps?"

Eyes bulging, Morven Parkinson raised his wand. " _Ava_ –"

"Stupefy!"


End file.
